Bloodied Rose
by RocketRanger
Summary: A tragic background for the Pisces Saint, Aphrodite. Revised and fully complete! Rated T for strong theme.


The emptiest temples currently in use were the highest two. Aquarius Camus was a quiet man who valued his time alone. His time at the temple was seldom spent, as he preferred Siberia if he could help it. The other quiet temple was Pisces. This wasn't because Aphrodite wanted to be alone. It was because he only knew how to be alone.

He took his bath, spending as much time as possible to not have to find something else to do. Perhaps it was cabin fever. It was Saga's order than he remain at his temple at all times. It was his paranoia, he knew. With the Pisces saint always present, there was always the obstacle of the roses to halt any intruder. The saint was more or less a gardener now, value more for his inherited ability rather than as a whole warrior. He accepted this, however, as it was the only thing he could do for Saga. It was years of this order that caused him to retreat gradually away from the other saints, even Deathmask.

It was like before. Those days before he lived in Sanctuary, he was alone. It was the countryside of his homeland, where he had no one to look out for him as a child. Instead, an outlaw kept him prisoner. As far back as he could remember, this criminal forced him to do his bidding, beating him whether he obeyed or not. Meager scraps, be it from an eaten meal, or carrion, was all that kept him alive despite the constant illness. It was especially bad when he drank. That's when he forced the boy into unimaginable acts. The memory made the saint shudder. He crossed his arms as a way to hug himself. He held tighter, as if to hide away in the water. He kept the water to his neck, afraid even to stand naked even when alone in the temple.

It was those scars. Some where by bullwhip, others by a knife, others by a hot poker, a rake, nails, barbed wire, anything and everything sharp. Most of the saint's skin was not original, but scar tissue. Most of his arms and above his neck remained unblemished. It was how he maneuvered when struck. His back took punishment first, but when he became insensitive to pain there, that's when the crook resorted to other parts of his body. As best as he could he directed harm to the least painful areas, but that angered the man to beat him harder. That was his life back then, slave labor and beatings in a world that never knew he existed.

If the man was passed out or away on crime, he shackled the boy to the frame of the shack. After a year, the negligence of the habitat and the boy's constant tugging allowed the joint to break, letting the boy free. His deception hid the breakage, and he pretended his entrapment. When alone, he sought freedom. However, all too quickly did he learn of the wild dogs the criminal deliberately loosed on the abandoned farmland. The dogs could not enter either the house or a wild, maze-like growth of bushes. Here it was safe and an easier sight than the shack. Eventually, after habitual trips like this, he found the bushes grew roses. They were the old cultivated roses from when the farm was proper. It was what kept him alive, really, since there was still hope here if he could make it to this beautiful spot.

One day he caught sight of twins. They passed by the shack, and he warned them about the dogs. They simply ignored him and went on. The poor boy followed, and witnessed the twins decimate the dogs with their bare hands. He asked them how it was possible, and they simply responded with talk of a cosmo within, and that he too could find it. He begged to go along with the twins, but one simply said that if he really wished to follow their path, he should break out of his rut and make his way to Sanctuary in Greece. The boy kept those words in mind, and returned to his place before the criminal returned. Naturally, the bad man was in a drunken frenzy, and the boy had it. He loosed his shackles and came upon the man from behind. The chains cut into his throat as he strangled, and it was over. The boy grabbed what food there was, and ran in the direction the twins took. He would not see them for a year, as what was a road became the whole of Europe.

It was a grueling test of perseverance, but the boy finally reached the initial steps of Sanctuary. Sure enough, one of the twins greeted him, though he wore an exquisite suit of gold armor.

"You managed to make it here. Why?"

"I just wanted to follow you, who told me I had the power to escape that Hell."

"What is your name?"

"On my way here, people kept calling at me, 'Aphrodite.' I didn't know what they meant, but then I saw a statue of a goddess, and someone told me I resembled her. That is the only name I've ever been called."

The twin smiled. Not only did the boy make it this far, but his language was never confounded despite his humble beginning. He had indeed possessed the seventh sense at such an early age. He offered his hand to the boy. "Come with me, Aphrodite. Here you will find the justice that saved you."

That was the turning point in his life. He trained as all saints did, but he bore no trouble due to insensitivity. With a diminished sense of pain, little held him back. He gained his Pisces cloth, something he never could have imagined before that fateful day in Sweden. With the cloth came the temple, and far more encouraging was the sight of roses that lined the temple. He knew of Kanon's exile, the twin that told him to embrace power. He felt the change in Saga, and the death of Shion. He did not waver his loyalty to Saga, because he owed his entire existence to the saint. Still, he was aware of the treason Saga committed, and so refused to ascend as high as his cloth beckoned.

That is what boons a saint, the gold cloth bears an extensive knowledge and residual cosmo. In rejecting the majority of it, it was his way of limiting Saga's ambition without abandoning him. That was all the justice he could bear to administer. He knew he would have no place nor future, should Saga's ambition fail. This was his path, the path to power that led him to solitude. His affections marginal, he kept himself strictly within Saga's realm of rationed justice through strength.

Through the sixth sense, Saga informed the gold saint of the bronze saints that dare challenge Sanctuary. He slowly rose from the water, letting it run off of him as he left the pool. Once dried and dressed, he took up the cloth for his bitter duty. The wait was like much of his time, an expanse of deliberate thoughtlessness. Then he felt the change in cosmos of his peers. Little by little, his comrades resigned or fell, the lowly bronze saints having approached his temple. Yes, for them to make it past even Camus, there was no way to stop them. He moved to the entrance to greet his challengers.

They made small talk about who continued, and who would fight the Pisces saint. He thought his expression was neutral, but it always came off as a smug face. He let the Pegasus saint pass, since none but the highest of saints could pass the road of roses. The Andromeda saint worked up courage, and their fight escalated. Yes, he knew of this boy, the pupil of Daidalos. Perhaps revealing his secret mission would depress the saint enough to give up. The talk backfired, and the boy simply fought harder. Where did his strength come from? He looked much too delicate, his body showed nowhere near the amount of scars that hardened the Pisces saint. What could motivate him better than a path out of Hell? This talk of his friends alongside his duty as a saint to Athena, this had to be the driving force behind his chains.

The cloth begged him, like a tug at the back of his mind. He could feel the extraordinary potential if he synchronized himself. Yet his sixth sense flashed the battles of the previous temples. Even those that died, somehow they were not synchronized to their full potential. Was that what the cloth was telling him? To submit and allow the saints passage? Even if he did not agree, his cloth would deprive him of his glory, burdening him instead? It made no difference. He could not abandon Saga, even if fate and his cloth forced him towards doom. He had to kill the boy with his minimized power. He suffered the death blow, but to trade another for it was worth it. That was his promise to Saga, fulfilled at last. However, Saga had yet to make the epiphany. He hoped that the Saga he knew would return, maybe with the help of the bronze saint. His remaining sense, the seventh, reached toward a vast warmth, that of Athena. So she really was alive! He let go, trusting her to undo the tragedy of Saga. Aphrodite finally died.


End file.
